


Listening Device Engineering

by thatmasquedgirl



Series: Felicity Smoak, Technical Advisor [9]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Canon Rewrite, F/M, Humor, Moira vs. Felicity, Mystery, One Shot, Original Team Arrow, Season/Series 01, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-06
Updated: 2014-10-06
Packaged: 2018-02-20 02:39:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2411915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatmasquedgirl/pseuds/thatmasquedgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The men in her life can't seem to get things right:  one is kissing her when he shouldn't, and the other isn't kissing her when he should.</p><p>A side story in the "Technical Assistance" universe that takes place between the two scenes in Chapter 27 "Network Setup." Reading through the rest of the series first is highly recommended.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Listening Device Engineering

**Author's Note:**

> Listen to the playlist for this side story [here](https://play.spotify.com/user/thatmasquedgirl/playlist/4IbTT0rbU51Ar8RtMuWASg).
> 
> So, I think I'm gonna let things heat up here for you all. ;) This side story is intense for a lot of reasons, but I think I'm okay with the way it turned out. I hope you all like it, though! :D Thanks in advance for taking the time to read/comment/review. :)
> 
> Special shout-outs to two very awesome people who made parts of this side story possible. In order of appearance in the story, first to MysteriousTwinkie/ihatepeas, who pointed out the bro head-nod as an option in a certain moment of need. Then, last but not least, to NewObsession on ff.net, who gave me the inspiration for the bonus story a few weeks ago. ;) Sorry you two didn't get to see the fruits of our conversations earlier.
> 
> Bonus points to anyone who understands the reference to Gleeman Vox—and possibly some mutual fangirling if said person reviews. :P
> 
> 6-8-17 Update: Thanks to AlexiaBlackbriar13 for the epic fanart below.

 

* * *

 

He’s waiting on her Sunday night when she brings in her shopping bags, causing her to jump and nearly spill her groceries all over the place. It’s the damnedest thing she’s ever seen; she flips the light switch and he’s sitting on her couch as though he belongs there, Saphira curled up next to him, asleep. It takes all she has not to yell a very violent curse in surprise, and a hand flies to her heart.

“Do you just _enjoy_ scaring me?” she demands to know. “I mean, can’t you just _call_ me to let me know you’re headed to my apartment? I’d really like to walk in here _just once_ and _not_ be scared out of my wits.” She sits her bags on the counter, putting away some of the cold items that won’t wait for her to spend all night at the lair.

He’s unapologetic as he rises to his feet to follow her. “I haven’t replaced my phone," he answers. “The screen was shattered by the bullet.” The reminder of all-too-recent events is unnecessary because she can’t exactly forget. He sighs. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

She takes the almost-apology because she knows it's all she's going to get. "I know," she assures him. "I get that I have a police tail and you'll have to pick me up, but get your phone fixed and call me—if only so I don't scream when I turn on the light to see you there."

She frowns, stopping for a moment as she remembers the spare burner she bought and activated. "Wait," she says, then goes into her bedroom, returning with the spare smartphone. He's situated at the bar when she returns, and she walks back to her purse, pulling out her own phone. She replaces her previous number for him with the new one on the burner before holding it out to him. "Here, take this one." He hesitates, clearly not wanting to take charity, so she applies to his logical side—if he _has_ a logical side. "You need a phone if you're going to be running around this city at night fighting dangerous criminals." He's still frowning, so she decides to land a low blow. "I'd feel better if you took it."

As expected, he takes the phone from her hand immediately. "I'll buy you a headset for your phone," he answers, and she rolls her eyes before turning back to her groceries. He hesitates, like he's going to put a hand on her shoulder, but he doesn't. After yesterday's gaffe in the lair when he almost kissed her ( _again_ ), he's been careful to maintain more distance, as if he doesn't trust himself alone with her.

It's a surprisingly flattering thought.

Still, she doesn't like that he's backed off, so she thinks it's time to test him a little. "Hey," she says gently, placing her hand over both of his, clasped in front of him, "I’ll put up the perishables, and then I’ll be ready to go.” She frowns, looking down at her attire as she remembers she wore a skirt. “Well, I’ll have to change, obviously—since, you know, skirts and bikes don’t mix—but _then_ I’ll be ready.”

He doesn’t say anything for a long time, but then she realizes what she was implying, and her face heats. Only then does he save her from her discomfort, taking her hand in one of his. “That’s fine,” he assures her. Hesitantly, he adds, “I’ll wait here.” It’s phrased almost like a question, but the Arrow doesn’t exactly ask for permission, so she knows it’s just an open question.

“So,” she starts casually as she pulls away, putting up the perishable groceries, “I think I’ve found a target for us—I’ve been doing some research since last night.” She bites her lip, uncertain if the offer still stands, but she decides to go through with it. “I found one that seemed interesting—the Dodger.” She waves a hand, her head in the refrigerator. “Apparently, he’s a jewel thief who’s decided to work Starling for a while—he was all over the news last night for stealing a piece from the Ominous Decade.” She shivers and this time it has nothing to do with the cold fridge. “They call him the Dodger because he makes innocent people do the work for him by placing bomb collars on their necks—very Gleeman Vox, if you ask me. Well, if you ignore the lack of deadly game shows and superheroes.” He looks at her for a long moment, and her face heats as she looks away. “And I’m _glad_ you didn’t understand that reference. Anyway, he took a guy’s head off in Paris when he wouldn’t steal what the Dodger wanted.” She crosses her arms, shutting her fridge as she finishes with her groceries. “The point is, I think he’s the kind of guy you like to take down.”

“Sounds like trouble,” he agrees not moving from the bar even as she skirts it to change clothes. “Do you know how to get to him?”

“Well,” she calls back from her room, through the closed door, “he’s such a high profile case that he has his own task force—they’re working with Interpol on this one.” She trades out her skirt for the first pair of jeans she finds, then pulls out an emerald green thermal with long sleeves that’s been sitting in her closet for ages. “It’s led by our old friend Detective Lance and his new partner.” She frowns, trying to remember the name as she finds the zipup hoodie he gave her during the Laurel Incident, pulling it on. “I think her name is Hall. First name starts with an M.”

She walks out of her bedroom, zipping up the hoodie. “McKenna Hall?” the Arrow asks, and she’s immediately on alert because _yes_ , it _was_ McKenna. He turns toward her then, and he draws up short as he looks at her.

“That’s the one,” Felicity agrees, trying to ignore the way he’s looking at her. She’s also trying to avoid that nagging feeling in her stomach since the Arrow never really mentions names. “Do you know her?” slips out anyway, even though it sounds a little petulant. It’s ridiculous; it’s not like she has any hold over Starling City’s Vigilante, and she certainly doesn’t need to seem _jealous_. Because she’s not, and she will _not_ be pulled into that trap, even as her emotions say otherwise. _He’s_ the one who wears green, not her. In the metaphorical sense, of course. Technically they’re both _literally_ wearing green.

She shakes her head, answering her own question in a more rational manner. “Oh, yeah, she was on the Vertigo case, too—I forgot.” She frowns at him. “And you’re staring.” She makes a show of waving a hand in front of his face, just because she can.

She’s surprised when he snatches her wrist out of the air, just because _he_ can. Instead of dropping it, he pulls her in until she lands against something hard. She throws her hand up immediately to stop her from stumbling, and cold leather under her hand informs her that she's been pulled against his chest. Felicity can't trust herself to speak, but he doesn't seem to mind. His hand moves from her wrist to touch her face, and she's pretty sure that he's going to break down and kiss her this time. _Finally_ , an errant voice in her head can't help but add.

"I like seeing you in my color," he admits then, and her eyes go wide at the ludicrously possessive tone in his voice, even under the synthesizer. Suddenly, she realizes that maybe he _isn’t_ thinking about the pretty young cop on his case. Never before has he been so clear about his feelings for her; even still, she has to read between the lines, but the message is obvious enough. His thumb brushes against the corner of her mouth and her eyes flutter closed, waiting.

Finally, there's a sigh, and then he releases her. By the time her eyes open again, he's already moving back toward the fire escape and her window. "I'll meet you downstairs," he says, and she resists the urge to shout the word _coward_ at him as he leaves.

Saphira whines from the couch, her head on her paws as she watches the Arrow go, looking completely forlorn. "I know _exactly_ how you feel," Felicity mutters to her before locking the little dog in the guest bedroom.

A few steps later, she's standing in the parking garage, frowning as she remembers she didn't see his bike parked near her car. He calls to her from another wall of the parking garage, and she mentally takes note of it for the next time. She charges over to him, taking the helmet and putting it on before her particular brand of bravery—or recklessness, perhaps—kicks in.

"I'm getting tired of this thing," she snaps, but the tilt of his head lets her know she isn't clear enough. "This thing we do." She waves a hand. "You know, where we do the thing where you disregard all personal boundaries?" She realizes that isn't clear, either, so she presses on, starting to get that nervous clawing feeling at her spine. "I mean, I _like_ that you completely disregard all personal boundaries—that's not what I'm getting at. It's more the way we've started to do things recently." She huffs, tired of trying to skirt the issue when he's being so oblivious. Before she even realizes what she's saying, she blurts, "I'm getting tired of you almost kissing me and then running away before you do."

She blushes furiously under the helmet, relieved that he can't see her. He flinches at first at the use of the _K-word_ , but then his mouth turns up into a rare, wide smile that could outshine the sun. "I'll remember that the next time I think you deserve better," he replies quietly, the smile fading ever so slightly.

She rolls her eyes because he's the most ridiculous thing she's ever had the pleasure to know, and partially because she’s frustrated by the way her emotions fluctuate around him. Part of her is horribly disappointed that he’s clearly not going to fix that tonight. The other half, however, is very glad he doesn't try to kiss her again—even if she's sure that tonight marked their last _almost_ -kiss.

She climbs on back of the bike, wrapping her arms around him. He makes sure she’s situated before pulling out of the space and the back entrance of the garage, and Felicity is surprised when he rounds the block and drives in front of the building. “Do you want to see your police tail?” he asks, but it’s more a rhetorical question.

“No, what are you—?” she starts to ask, but he slows as they near a car parked on the opposite side of the street. It’s an older-model, black sedan that _screams_ cop car, and Felicity wonders how she’s missed it before since it’s so glaringly obvious. Lance himself is keeping patrol tonight, apparently, sitting in the driver’s seat. She doesn’t recognize his partner.

She feels more than hears him chuckle before he pulls to a halt and nods at Lance, and the poor detective’s eyes go wide for a second before the car starts. Before he can pull the car out of the space, she and the Arrow are gone, disappearing around the nearest corner before zooming back down onto Twenty-Second.

They manage to make it back to the club’s basement without any further incident, and Felicity is glad she grabbed her hoodie when the first blast of cold, stale air hits her. She shivers anyway, and she thinks she’s going to need something heavier to keep in the lair for nights like this. She waves a hand at Diggle, though she instantly shoves her hands back under her arms. She might need gloves for this damn place. “How are you tonight?” she asks him.

He decides to give the poor training dummy a break. “Trying to stay warm,” he answers dryly. “They’re working on part of the heating system, so it’s an icebox down here.”

“No kidding,” she mutters. She looks around her station as she adds louder, “But it’s good for my computers.” As soon as the words leave her mouth, something falls over her shoulders, and she’s surprised to find another hoodie, this one charcoal gray and several sizes too big. The Arrow stands next to her desk, and when she shoots him a questioning glance, he winks at her. “Thank you,” she murmurs, pulling her arms through the hoodie.

She’s about to start again, but then she turns toward back the Arrow, pointing at him before he can take a stick and start beating Diggle with it. “I have an idea.” She points at him with both index fingers now. “Your crush object with a badge,” she blurts, causing the Arrow’s mouth to turn down and one of Diggle’s eyebrows shoot up in question, though it’s aimed at Felicity and not the Arrow. “She’s our in because she’s all over the case. I can work up a bug for you to slip into her phone.” She bites her lip, mostly thinking out loud now. “You’d have to flirt to distract her. Can you do that?” She can almost _feel_ his eyebrow raise, and she turns crimson. “Well, I mean I _know_ you can flirt—when you’re Mr. Tall, Green, and Handsome. But, you know, I’m not sure if you can flirt when you’re _not_ in that getup.” Her blush deepens and she doesn’t have to wait for his look this time. “God, I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant that when you’re, you know, _you_ —”

“Felicity,” he calls, and she’s never been so grateful for his interruption in her life. Gently, he adds, “I can slip the bug into her phone.” He hesitates. “Even if it’s not how I typically get my information.”

She crosses her arms. “Other than using _me_ ,” she starts slowly, “how do you typically do it?” Something tells her she’s going to regret asking.

She isn’t mistaken. He suddenly looks ten times more fierce, like the vigilante that Starling has learned to fear. “I find the person,” he answers thoughtfully, “and then I put the fear of God into them until they talk.” She can’t help the way her eyebrows shoot up into her hairline, and he rushes on to add, “But we can try it your way.”

“Well, my way is less likely to get you shot by a cop,” she says finally, before turning back to the desk. Thank goodness she brought in some old circuits and equipment, just in case they needed her to make some bugs.

“And Felicity?” he asks this time, and she _hmm_ ’s instead of looking up. His hand falls on her shoulder then, followed by his breath tickling her ear as he whispers, “My crush object doesn’t carry a badge.”

It takes her a few moments, but she _does_ remember how to breathe.

 

* * *

 

Felicity is on her way out of the Queen Consolidated building for lunch when she sees Tommy talking to Mrs. Queen on the front steps. Part of her wants to stop and talk—because she hasn't spoken to Tommy in a very long time—but the other part of her thinks she shouldn't just walk in on a conversation with the CEO of the company she works for. She decides to stay away from their conversation, instead pretending not to see them there.

"Hey, Smoaky, you're going the wrong way," Tommy calls from behind her, and she stops, turning. "I'm right here." He's wearing that same cheesy grin, and it just makes Felicity want to drop him down a notch again.

She faces him, adjusting her purse straps on her shoulder. "I know where you are, Merlyn," she responds with a wry smile. "Why do you think I'm walking away?" She walks up to him then, since he's sort of invited her into the conversation.

"Cute, Smoak," he answers dryly. "Real cute." He holds up a plastic bag with a styrofoam container, and, well, she knows that smell anywhere. "Is that how you treat a man who brought you lunch?" He winks at her before turning back to Moira Queen. "Mrs. Q, I think you remember Felicity—she was my not-a-date at the Christmas party."

Moira seems less than pleased by the reminder, even though she was nothing but cordial at the party, and Felicity thinks she should have ran while she had the chance. "Yes, I remember," she answers. With a smile that isn't so welcoming, she adds, "And I'm not likely to forget, as often as my son mentions you." Felicity turns crimson at the implications of that, trying to think of a way to explain their relationship without saying "just friends" like a schoolgirl. "If you're looking for Oliver, this probably isn't the best place. Unfortunately, he doesn't spend much of his time with our company."

She's about to answer, but Tommy steps in on her behalf. "Felicity works here, in the IT department," he explains. "I was trying to steal her away before lunch, but I left the club a little than I should have—traffic is a nightmare."

The icy smile and stiff demeanor slide away, but Felicity knows this isn't a woman to be crossed, if the book under her bed is any indication. "Well, then," Moira says finally, "I'll leave you to it. It was nice seeing you again, Miss Smoak." Felicity reciprocates the sentiment, trying not to look perplexed by the sudden mood swing. "Tommy, try to behave yourself."

He shrugs, flashes that smile that Felicity has come to know so well. "Where's the fun in that?" he retorts, and this time it earns a genuine smile from Moira, who waves over her shoulder before moving toward her car at the steps.

He turns back to Felicity, offering her his arm like an actual gentleman. She takes it, her hand just above his elbow. Part of her can't help but compare it to the experience of Oliver's arm, and, well, she knows which one she'd prefer. "I'm I caught you before you left."

She looks over her shoulder, at Moira, who is slipping into the backseat of her car while her driver holds the door open. "What was with the hot-and-cold routine back there?"

"You're on her shit list," Tommy answers, perhaps a little too cheerfully, and he looks down at her when she doesn't laugh. "Don't worry, you're in good company—I'm currently on there, too, but she's not so cold because Ollie and I have been thick as thieves since we were in diapers."

"What did _I_ do?" Felicity can't help but ask as they board the elevator together. A few heads turn toward them, and she just _knows_ she's going to be at the top of the gossip board for a few days after this encounter.

"Same thing I did," Tommy answers, then sighs. "Mrs. Q has this picture in her head of how Ollie and Thea's lives should be. And, in her mind, it's _always_ been Ollie and Laurel—and probably always will be. Laurel is smart, driven, idealistic, and, frankly, an absolute dream. And, when they were dating, she brought a sense of direction to Ollie's life." He frowns, his mouth turning down. "But now, Laurel and I are together. Which might be okay in Mrs. Q's book, if Ollie wasn't so chill about it. But Laurel and Ollie? They don't really talk anymore. I think they found a way to put aside their differences, but whatever they had is gone." Tommy's expression turns serious, his eyes locking with hers. "And now, I don't think I've had a conversation with him since he met you where he hasn't said your name." He shrugs. "So Mrs. Q thinks that we effectively broke up Ollie and Laurel, in our own way."

Felicity rolls her eyes as the elevator opens, and she takes Tommy's arm again, even as ridiculous as they look. "Oliver and I aren't a thing," Felicity reminds him. _Yet_ , a small portion of her brain adds. Honestly, she thinks it's kind of a race to the finish; both the Arrow and Oliver have expressed interest, so she'll have to think of how to handle that when the time comes.

"So you keep telling me," Tommy agrees with a knowing grin that she wants to slap off his face. She drops into her chair as he drops the plate of food on her desk, and she smiles as she breathes in the smell of the food. "Ollie told me I could use that to bribe you, but I didn't think it would work."

"God, I love that man," is her answer, and then the smile on Tommy's face reminds her how she sounds. She turns crimson, waving her hands wildly as she says, "No, not like that. Like, you know, when you love someone _platonically_ when they do something nice for you." She sighs because that look he’s giving her isn't going anywhere soon, but then she realizes what he said with a healthy dose of trepidation. "Wait, why are you bribing me?"

He sits in the second chair as she takes her first bite of heaven, and she kicks off her panda flats before dropping her feet in his lap. Again, he doesn't seem to mind the arrangement. "I need advice again," he admits. "I already got some, but I think a more reliable source is in order." He looks at her feet, frowning. "You know emerald green is kind of the Vigilante's color now, right?” His gaze switches between her fingernails and her toenails before going back to her face. “Not sure you should be painting nails that color."

She shrugs, trying to play it cool even though she's _very_ aware it's the Arrow's color. In fact, she kind of did it on purpose after his possessive _I like seeing you in my color_ statement last night. "It's a color," she states flatly after swallowing a bite, "and it doesn't belong to anyone." She waves a hand before taking another bite of food. "Tell me about your Laurel problems."

One of his eyebrows rises, and his head swivels to the left. "How did you know it was about Laurel?" he asks slowly.

Felicity rolls her eyes. The obvious answer is that she knows Laurel works with the Arrow from time to time, but she goes with, "Because whenever things go wrong with Laurel, you look like someone shot your dog. So spill, Merlyn."

He holds up his hands. "She's been working with the Vigilante for months," he says finally. "And she's been lying to me about it. I think she has a thing for him, but it's the lying that bothers me. We don't lie to each other—that's not how we work." He sighs. "And now she's upset because I won't talk to her _and_ the Vigilante won't talk to her, either." He waves a hand. "Apparently he took back her phone she used to contact him."

Felicity's eyebrows go up at this news—the Arrow hasn't said a damn thing about it to her. Not that it's any of her business, but she needs to know who she can call when things go bad. Still, it's interesting news because she realizes that she and Diggle are the only two friends the Arrow has now.

"You still love her," she says finally, "and I think Laurel still loves you." Maybe she identifies with this a little more than she probably should. "Think about it from Laurel's perspective for a moment. She's working with him because she thinks the Vigilante can help her clients. She's putting herself in danger, and she doesn't want to bring that back to you." Tommy opens his mouth to speak, but Felicity holds up a hand. "You asked for my opinion, and you're going to get it. I don't think that excuses her lying to you, but I think it should be considered." She nudges him with her toes. "But, the point is, you two have too much history for one snafu to tear you apart." She drops her fork before crossing her arms. "So you better fix this, Merlyn, before it becomes _un_ fixable."

He hesitates. "You know, that's the second time I've received that advice," he admits.

"Well, I give really good advice," she retorts. "You know that, right?" He grins as she winks, and they both chuckle. She points at him. "I mean it, Merlyn. You better fix this, or else you'll suffer my wrath." He chuckles like she's making a joke.

There's a knock on her doorframe, and they both look up to see Oliver standing there, the smile on his face a bit forced. Tommy pushes her feet off his lap. "I'll let you get back to lunch. Thanks, Smoaky," he says after a long moment. "If you ever get tired of being an IT girl, you could always take Dr. Phil's job." He places a kiss on her cheek. "I owe you one."

She tries to ignore the way her face burns, crossing her arms. "Just _one_ , Merlyn?" she answers, earning her a chuckle and a wave over Tommy's shoulder. She turns to Oliver, who looks incredibly tense—shoulders tight and posture rigid. "What have you done to your poor laptop now?" she asks, wary. Because if he’s broken her baby again, there _will_ be consequences.

His chuckle resolves a little of the tension, but then he takes the seat Tommy previously occupied. "I was hoping to catch you here," he admits, then runs a hand over his face. She thinks it's odd; he's never quite this tense around her—unless he has a busted laptop under his arm.

She reaches out, leaning her elbows on her knees so that she can take one of his hands in hers. "Hey, what's wrong?" she asks quietly. "Is everything all right with Thea?" she can't help but ask. She's the only one Felicity hasn't talked to recently, and Moira is obviously fine.

His eyebrows narrow. "She was fine when I dropped her off this morning," he answers slowly. "Why, what have you heard?"

Felicity pulls one hand away to wave it vehemently. "No, no, I haven't heard anything," she assures him. She points to his face. "It's just... well, you have this look on your face that you get when you're freaking out." She studies him a little longer. "Like you've swallowed a squirrel or something." Her description brings a smile to his face, so she's glad she made it, even as she realizes how ridiculous she sounds. "So, what's the problem?"

"Nothing," he manages, and she knows his tone betrays the opposite. He pulls his hand away before taking a deep breath. "My family is donating a piece to the charity auction this Friday, so they've invited us to come." He sighs. "Thea is working at CNRI late to pick up some of her hours, and my mother hasn't left the house much since Walter was abducted." He runs a hand over his face again. "So I'm stuck having to go, and I thought it would be nice to have some company."

He stares at her with a loaded look, and she returns it blankly before it dawns on her. " _Oh_ ," she says finally, "oh, you're asking me to go with you." He doesn't say anything, and she continues, "On a date." She blushes when his eyebrows go up. "Not, like, a _date_ date, but a _date_." He finally starts to smile at her words, and she waves her hands. "I know they sound the same, but they're not." She groans at herself. "What I mean to say is, what time are you picking me up?"

All the tension leaves from his shoulders at once, and it dawns on her again. "Wait," she says, holding her hands out in front of her, "were you _nervous_ about asking _me_ on a date?" She makes a motion between them, trying to contain the giddy feeling rising up. "Because shouldn't this be the other way around? I _did_ just get asked out on a date by _Oliver Queen_ , you know."

It earns her a breathy laugh. "I didn't want this to be awkward," he admits.

"Well, you blew it," she retorts flatly, earning herself a smile. "But it is incredibly sweet and ridiculous." He's looking away, so, before she can tell herself it's a horrible idea, she leans in and presses a kiss against his cheek for a fraction of a second. She pulls away, blushing from head to toe, and he breaks out into one of the widest smiles she's ever seen on his face.

She makes a few awkward hand motions before saying, "I, um, left a little lipstick." Without thinking, she holds his chin in her left hand, using her right to wipe off the lipstick smudge. Then her actions catch up to her, and she feels even more like an idiot than before. "Um, yeah," she manages finally. "If you need me, I think I'm going to be in the corner, slowly dying of embarrassment."

"You shouldn't be embarrassed," he answers, rising to his feet. Indecision plays across his features before he cups her jaw, and her eyes close because, really, they shouldn't be doing this. It's approaching dangerous territory, and they both know Oliver has _way_ too much emotional baggage to be attempting something of this magnitude so soon.

She finds her mind is a fickle thing, however, when his lips press against her temple; suddenly, she's ready to give this thing a shot.

Her eyes fly open, and she finds him looking completely calm and contained. It isn't fair that he can be so collected while she turns the same color as the fire hydrant outside whenever he so much as looks at her. "I'll see you on Friday, then," he says with a smile, and then he's leaving. He stops at the door, however, to wink at her before disappearing down the hall.

She's fairly certain she collapses into a puddle of goo when he's out of sight.

Save

**Author's Note:**

> Playlist:
> 
> "We're Not Gonna Take It" - Twisted Sister  
> “Just Give Me a Reason” - P!nk feat. Nate Ruess  
> “Running” - No Doubt  
> “Whatever You Do! Don’t!” - Shania Twain  
> "I Want You" - Buckcherry  
> “First Time” - Lifehouse  
> "All Around Me" - Flyleaf


End file.
